


Homecoming

by hotarukun



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fics [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fluff, Injured Character, M/M, Not Beta Read, Prompt Fic, Vague reference to torture, i am so bad at titles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:05:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2587529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotarukun/pseuds/hotarukun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An injured Grif tries to find his way home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

Grif wasn’t really sure how he’d gotten loose, maybe it had been luck that the ropes were slack, maybe it was intent on the part of his captors, but either way he’d woken up with enough give to get his arms free and no Felix or Locus in sight so he wasn’t really going to question it.  He’d shed the ropes and ran, driven by the fear that one or both of the mercenaries would return before he was free.

That had been two days ago, and while he hadn’t seen any signs of pursuit, he also hadn’t managed to make his way back to the base. The adrenaline that had fueled his desperate run began to fade, replaced by pain and a growing sense of despair. The bruises that Felix and Locus had left him with ached constantly, and there was a gnawing pain in his stomach reminding him that he had nothing but water since they first abducted him some four days ago.

He was cold, he was tired, he was hungry, and he was so fucking lost.

He couldn’t even muster up the strength to curse when his heavy feet caught on a root and brought him crashing to the ground, jarring what he was pretty sure were bruised ribs. He just let out a single sob, curled in on himself, and tried to resign himself to dying alone out here.

_Lazy, no-good dirtbag. Can’t even pull himself up to save his own life._

Great, even in his own head he couldn’t escape Sarge berating him.

_Come on, Grif. You’re not just going to lie there and take it, are you?_

Or Donut’s innuendos. Grif groaned and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Maybe if he tried hard enough he could just die peacefully.

_Hey fatass, you were supposed to help me with patrols. Get off your ass and come help me._

Simmons….Simmons’ voice he could live with. Grif pried his eyes open and levered himself up off the ground, gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain in his ribs. His first few steps forward were stumbling, and he nearly pitched over once more, but he managed to stay on his feet and achieved a slow, shuffling gait.

It took much of his fading mental faculties to keep his feet, so Grif might be forgiven for not noticing the sounds of arguing before he’d rounded a rocky outcropping and nearly stumbled into a group of soldiers. For a moment he felt a thrill of fear, sure he’d managed to walk himself right back into captivity. But then he registered that armor colors, not the black with green and orange highlights he feared, but the bright, solid colors he’d grown used to seeing over the past few years.

The group was clustered together, all attention on where Simmons was geasturing wildly, facing off against a stony Agent Washington.

“We can’t stop!” Simmons was saying, voice pitched high. “He’s been gone for days! He could be hurt!”

Grif tried to interrupt, tried to say his teammate’s name, but his throat was dry and rough and all he could manage was a soft rasp, lost under Washington’s response.

Washington raised a placating hand. “I know, and I want to find him too, but we need to rest.”

“We don’t need to rest, we need to find Grif!”

Grif cleared his throat. “Simmons,” he tried again, this time managing a more audible volume. The argument ceased, all eyes turning to face Grif, and an almost eerie stillness fell over them all.

“This is just like one of my romance novels,” Donut finally spoke, breaking the silence, and then Simmons was moving, rushing towards Grif fast enough that the orange-armored soldier flinched back slightly.

Simmons stopped directly in front of him and reached up to remove his own helmet, letting it drop carelessly to the dirt by his feet. “Grif,” he said softly, “You’re alive.”

“Mostly,” Grif replied. He reached up to remove his own helmet, but hissed out a pained breath when the angle sent a twinge of pain through his shoulder. He let his arms drop back to his side and Simmons reached out to complete the act for him, carefully pulling the helmet off and letting it join his own on the ground.

“Dude,” came Tucker’s voice from somewhere behind Simmons, “I think they’re finally gonna make out.” And then Simmons’ fingers were tangling in his hair and Grif’s own hands found purchase on Simmons’ waist and they were pulling each other in, pressing their lips together in a desperate kiss. Grif closes his eyes and pours everything into the kiss – all his fear from the past few days, all the pain and exhaustion, all his relief at finally finding them, and, most of all, all of the love he has for this ridiculous man in front of him. He can hear their friends reacting – wild whoops from Tucker and Donut, Sarge grumbling about fraternization, Caboose asking if they’re going to have a baby now – but he shuts it all out, focusing on the feel of Simmons’ lips against his and the slight taste of salt – Simmons’ is crying, which Grif is so going to make fun of him for later.

Grif finally has to break the kiss when his head begins to swim. He rests his forehead on Simmons’ shoulder instead. “I’m hungry,” he complains.

Simmons’ snorts. “Of course you are, fatass.” And if he’s a bit choked up, well, no one calls him on it. “Let’s get you something to eat.”  

 

 

 

Inspired by [this post](http://thebestblogeverofalltime.tumblr.com/post/102077857442/i-just-need-to-get-this-out-of-my-head-so-i-can-go) from tumblr. 


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